


Good Literature

by peridot_tea91



Series: Good Literature: Gods and Monsters [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Men of Letters (Supernatural), Angst, Blood, Canon Related, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Childhood Memories, Crack, Diary/Journal, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Good Omens References, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Men of Letters Bunker Feels (Supernatural), Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Monster Apocalypse, Monster of the Week, Monsters, Past Character Death, Psychic Abilities, Real Life Locations, Slow Build, Slow Burn, The Colt (Supernatural), kripke era themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21837097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peridot_tea91/pseuds/peridot_tea91
Summary: The angels have fallen, the pearly gates have been shut down. Desperate for a way to undo Metatron’s spell, Sam and Kevin turn to Crowley, who receives a cryptic message from Abaddon regarding Alphas and Eve, Mother of Monsters. Diving into the Men of Letters records, Sam finds out about a set of classified journals belonging to a former hunter turned MoL field agent. In an effort to uncover what secrets the journals were hiding, the infamous Winchesters are led to a fellow legacy. Problem is, she doesn’t know anything about the supernatural!*Resuming early 2021*
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Character(s), Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Sam Winchester/Original Character(s), Sam Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Good Literature: Gods and Monsters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060796
Kudos: 12





	1. Lost in Translation(s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Chapter updated 8/2/2020

Books, notes, and various Men of Letters’ files covered the tables of the bunker’s library. After hours of tedious research and digging through the archives, Sam and Kevin were at their wits' ends. A few months ago, the now-infamous "Scribe of God," stole Castiel's grace and used it in a spell that effectively closed the gates of Heaven for good. Thousands of angels fell, looking like meteors against the night sky, and setting off alarms around the world. Now, Sam and Kevin desperately searched for a way to undo Metatron's handiwork with the help of Kevin's translations from the angel and demon tablets. Unfortunately, they hit a snag with the primordial texts, with the closest language Kevin could translate to being Proto-Elamite Cuneiform. Or, as Sam and Dean so eloquently put it, “doodles.”

Dean had abandoned ship hours ago, having received an unexpected phone call from a now  _ very _ human Castiel. Eager for an excuse to avoid research (as usual), Dean packed a bag and headed to Rexford, Idaho, with the promise of a possible case. Thus, Sam and Kevin were left to pick up the slack. After numerous dead ends, several cups of coffee, and 24 volumes of  _ Zimmerman’s Encyclopedia of Extinct Languages _ , the pair had nothing new to report when Dean checked in hours later.

“Have you tried Professor Morrison?” Dean suggested over the phone.

Several years ago, the Seattle anthropology professor assisted the Winchesters, unknowingly, with an Amazon case they had been stuck on. They consulted him again, a while later, during a case involving sacrifices to the Mayan god, Cacao. While no one could ever replace Bobby, Professor Morrison had proven useful.

“Yeah, he’s unreachable,” Sam answered as he sipped his coffee on the library steps, “took a sabbatical to live among the Trobrianders of Papua New Guinea. Needless to say, we’re burnt.”

“Well, there’s one guy there who is nothing, if not well-rested.”

“Crowley?” Sam asked incredulously, catching Kevin’s attention from where he sat at one of the library’s tables.

“Well, we’re not keeping him chained up for his one-liners.”

“It’s worth a shot, I guess,” Sam conceded.

“Just be careful. Don’t fall for any of his ‘Quid Pro Quo’ crap,” Dean warned.

“Noted. So, how about you? How’s Cas’ lead panning out?”

“Four victims suddenly exploded. I tried EMF; I looked for hex bags, sulfur—nada.”

“Spontaneous combustion?” Sam wondered aloud, “Maybe the Thule?”

“No, no, no. I already ruled them out,” Dean dismissed, “the bodies were vaporized. They weren’t burned.”

“That sounds like a real case, Dean. I should be there.”

“Naw, man. That’s-that’s, uh… not necessary,” Dean rejected somewhat distractedly, “No, I, uh-I got this one covered.”

Before Sam could say anything more, Dean ended the call, earning an annoyed scoff from the younger Winchester. Dean had been acting beyond strange lately. Hell, a lot of things had been strange as of late, ever since the incident in the church. While Metatron had been busy shutting down Heaven, Sam had been on the last of the three trials that would seal the gates of Hell forever. No more demons, or hellhounds, or crossroads deals, or Crowley. The trials had taken a serious toll on Sam's health, but to him, it was more than worth it. 

In Sam’s mind, the trials were a means to cleanse himself, to finally make amends for all his failings. Ruby, demon blood, Lucifer, not looking for Dean—Sam had never forgiven himself for his mistakes. And deep down knew that his brother hadn’t either. But Dean had stopped him, just as he was about to administer the final dosage of purified human blood to Crowley, thus successfully curing a demon. Even when told that the price for closing Hell was death, Sam didn’t hesitate. He was ready, and more than willing to make the sacrifice. 

Sam thought about that night a lot—the night he  _ almost _ sealed Hell forever, the night falling angels filled the skies. Despite not finishing the final task, the trials still took their toll. Ever since, Dean had been treating him with kid gloves, like he was fragile and about to break. Honestly, Sam felt it was completely unnecessary; this was the best he had felt in years! Although, it did increasingly concern him how often there seemed to be large spans of time that he simply couldn’t remember. Perhaps it was an after effect of the trials; Sam didn’t know for sure. What he  _ did _ know, however, was that they had much bigger problems than his lapses in memory.

Sam made his way back into the library, where Kevin was still busy researching. He hadn’t even made it to the table when the young prophet began interrogating him.

“You cannot seriously be considering going to Crowley for help,” Kevin stated abruptly.

Sam let out a heavy sigh, “I’m not happy about it either, but what other choice have we got? We’re getting nowhere, and Crowley is chained up in the dungeon. We might as well use him.”

“That doesn’t mean we can trust him.”

“You’re right. But all we’re doing right now is spinning our wheels. Besides, it’s not like he can do anything while chained up.”

Kevin pushed away from the table and leaned back in his chair, sighing in defeat, “I guess.”

“Look, I’m just gonna show him a small piece of what we’re working with and see what he can do. Then, we’ll figure out the rest from there,” Sam explained, successfully appeasing him.

“Alright. Here, try this one,” Kevin handed one of the pages on the table to Sam, “those are the symbols that appear the most throughout the text. It’s a good place to start.”

“Right. I’ll be back.”

Sam headed off down the winding halls to room 7B—one of several archive rooms and home to the bunker’s dungeon—where the King of Hell was currently being held captive. He had been locked up there ever since the fall, with minimal contact and most days spent in total darkness. Getting the crooked demon to help them with  _ anything _ would certainly be a feat. Admittedly, Sam would sometimes forget that Crowley was even there. But then, someone would have to go into the archives for a book or Men of Letters’ file, and he would begin prattling on, mostly whining. Even in captivity, the former King of the Crossroads proved to be obnoxious.

Sam perched on the edge of the table in front of Crowley, watching him expectantly as he glossed over the page before him. “I’ve been asking for reading material for  _ weeks _ and  _ this _ is what you bring me? Pass,” the demon chided as he slid Kevin’s notes across the table in disinterest.

“Can you read Elamite, or not?” Sam asked coldly. He had absolutely  _ no _ patience for Crowley’s attitude.

“It’s by no means my favorite of the ancient tongues, but yes.”

“Will you help us read it?”

“Why on earth would I?” Crowley questioned derisively.

“Because I was there that night. I saw what humanity did to you,” Sam retorted, earning a quiet scoff from the King of Hell, “Like it or not, there’s still a little part of you that’s not a douche.”

“Sorry, Moose. To the last drop.”

Sam pursed his lips in irritation as he stood, refusing to look away. Nothing with the King of Hell was ever easy or straightforward. It honestly got on Sam’s last nerve. Placing his hands on the table, Sam leaned forward so that their faces were mere inches apart.

“Crowley, the  _ only _ reason you’re alive is because my brother thought you might be useful. So far, you’ve done jack,” Sam stated clearly, his voice steady despite his obvious annoyance. Sam then shook his head and sighed in mock disappointment, “Back to ‘Plan B,’ I guess.”

Sam straightened and took Kevin’s notes from the tabletop. As he turned to walk away, Crowley spoke up, “Which is?”

“Give you up to Abaddon,” the hunter answered nonchalantly as he continued to walk away, smirking slightly. Crowley was taking the bait.

“You think you can threaten me with that  _ hack _ !? She’s all fury, no finesse.”

“I’m not so sure,” Sam taunted smugly as he turned back to face the confined demon, “our last encounter with Abaddon, she was, uh- she was pretty terrifying. Scarier than you’ve been in years.”

“Give that to me,” Crowley ordered angrily as he reached for the paper.

Sam walked back to the table and handed Crowley the page, only to have the demon ball it up and hit him in the face with it. Sam cocked his head; he really should have expected that. Crossing his arms, Crowley glared at the hunter like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. Jaw ticking in annoyance, Sam turned on his heels and stormed from the room. Apparently, having a taste of humanity only made the King of Hell even more aggravating.

"How'd it go?" Kevin asked as Sam returned to the library.

"About as well as expected."

"So, he's refusing to cooperate," Kevin surmised as Sam took a seat across from him.

"Pretty much."

It was times like these that Sam wished they still had Bobby. The ornery hunter hoarded books and translations like a one-man-library. Sam knew Bobby had made copies of everything he owned and stashed them at various storage facilities across the country, but neither Winchester knew the locations of any except one or two. Of course, even if they  _ did _ have access to Bobby's collection, they would still struggle to translate Kevin's notes correctly. Ah, the joys of dead languages.

After a few hours of letting Crowley stew in his juices, Sam decided to take another crack at him. Surprisingly, he was a bit more cooperative. Of course, Crowley wouldn’t be Crowley if he didn’t always turn everything into a business transaction.

“I’ll do it. But I want something in return.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” Sam scoffed, suspicious of the chained demon before him.

“A telephone call.”

Sam tongued the inside of his cheek and shook his head in disbelief. Crowley was really in no position to do  _ any _ sort of bargaining, yet here he was at the first opportunity. The hunter in Sam wanted nothing more than to punch him in his smug, poncey face. However, the more logical, Man of Letters’ side of him knew that Crowley was the only option they had at the moment. Without another word, Sam headed out into the hallway where Kevin was waiting, ignoring Crowley’s calling to him. After a bit of back-and-forth discussion between the two of them, Sam and Kevin reluctantly gave in to the King of Hell’s request. But before he would be contacting  _ anyone _ , they needed proof of his reliability.

“What are these?” Sam demanded as he once again shoved a page from Kevin’s translations at the King of Hell.

“Ingredients,” he teased.

“More specific.”

“Ingredients for a spell,” Crowley sassed as he pushed the paper towards Sam. Sam roughly shoved the paperback at him, making it increasingly clear that he was done playing games. Crowley rolled his eyes and boredly read: “Heart of a Nephilim. Cupid’s bow. Grace of an angel.” 

Kevin eagerly thrust more of his notes at the demon, “And the rest of them.”

“Phone call,” Crowley answered smugly, “You’ll get the rest when I get paid. Now, who’s going to be a dear and open a vein?”

Sam pulled the nearby medical kit on the table towards him and unrolled it, revealing a set of five syringes as Kevin and Crowley watched on. Sam had just pulled one from the kit and was about to prick himself when the conniving demon stopped him.

“Ah-bup-bup-bup.”

“What?”

“Not yours.  _ His _ ,” Crowley stated, nodding towards Kevin.

“What difference does it make?” Sam questioned, admittedly confused.

“I’ve had yours. Stuck in here, you can’t fault me for wanting a little variety.”

“No way!” Kevin protested in disgust. For the past two years, ever since Kevin had presented as a Prophet of the Lord, he had been taunted, tormented, and mentally manipulated by the King of Hell. Crowley wanting to use Kevin’s blood to contact Abaddon was just another way for him to dig under his skin.

“What’s the matter, short round? Afraid of needles?”

“No. I just have a policy of not giving blood to anyone who’s murdered my mother,” Kevin seethed.

“I… have… nothing but time,” Crowley crooned with a smirk and his arms out wide (or at least as wide as they could go in chains).

Sam angrily jammed the syringe back into place and began rolling the kit back up, “You’re a dick.”

“Good luck with that translation,” he mocked.

Kevin was at his breaking point in frustration. Crowley knew that he was their only real hope for translating the Elamite "doodles.” Naturally, he intended to milk the situation as much as possible, grasping onto what minuscule amount of leverage he had. However, Kevin was tired of Crowley's games, not to mention the constant wheel-spinning. Grabbing a syringe from the kit, Kevin angrily pushed up his sleeve and shoved the needle into his arm, just above his anti-possession tattoo. Crowley smirked pompously as he watched, more than satisfied to see Kevin drawing blood for him.

Despite getting what he wanted, however, there were a couple of hiccups with Crowley’s “phone call.” The idea of a magical, albeit macabre, means of communication having connectivity issues was borderline comedic. But the fact that the once terrifying King of Hell got placed on hold and disregarded by his own henchman was downright poetic. The formerly infamous King of the Crossroads was now being ignored by the very demons he supposedly controlled through fear. Eventually, the would-be-usurper, Abaddon, answered Crowley’s call, much to everyone’s relief.

“Crowley. How the hell are you?”

“Abaddon. Still running around attempting to pilfer what doesn’t belong to you? And how are the numbers?”

“You mean souls? I’ve managed to double on your projections. Now, how did I  _ ever _ pull off such a feat?” she usurper teased.

Crowley paused briefly in realization, “You’re taking souls before their time… voiding my contracts!” He bellowed, causing Sam and Kevin to exchange concerned looks. They couldn’t hear Abaddon’s end of the call but were hearing enough of Crowley’s to know that whatever she was saying wasn’t good.

“That’s right. I’m taking it all down, brick by brick. It’s over. The days of Crowley, King of the Bureaucrats, are done,” the Knight of Hell taunted.

"You… janky, putrescent skanger!" Sam furrowed his brow at the insult and once again glanced over at Kevin, who simply shrugged. "It may look like bean-counting to you. It may lack a certain adolescent flair. But my way  _ works _ ! You think you can control Hell with chaos alone? Without the support of those who are still loyal to me!?”

“No one’s seen you in weeks. And last I saw you, Howdy and Doody had you tied up nice and tight. It seems to reason, they’ve turned you into a kennel dog. How does it feel, Crowley, to be the Winchester’s bitch? It’s been fun indulging your bluffs, but we both know you have no  _ real _ authority left, no leverage. You have nothing to offer me. You have  _ nothing _ .”

“Your way will backfire. You. Will.  _ Burn _ .” 

“I can’t wait,” the demoness mocked, unimpressed by Crowley’s words, “But in the meantime, you’ve got more to worry about than Hell finally being in the hands of a more effective ruler.”

“Meaning?”

"Let's just say an old friend of yours might be making an appearance soon. Word on the street is that the Alphas are on the move, trying to resurrect mommy dearest. Now I wonder, Crowley, does Eve hold a grudge?”

Crowley froze, eyes widening slightly at Abaddon’s words, “You’re bluffing. The Winchesters killed her years ago. I had her corpse!”

“Hmm… but we both know that nothing ever really  _ stays _ dead, does it, Crowley? Better watch your back, pet,” Abaddon taunted, getting enjoyment from his obvious discomfort and ending the connection.

Crowley pushed the bowl away from himself, looking rather defeated. Sam and Kevin once again exchanged looks, wondering what it was that Abaddon had told him. After a moment of silence, Sam spoke up, pulling the demon out of his momentarily catatonic state.

“Crowley?”

“Bring me the translations. I keep my agreements,” he replied somberly. Kevin quickly gathered the papers and passed them to Sam, who then slid them to Crowley.

Unfortunately, the translations didn’t bring good news. Metatron’s spell was irreversible, meaning that Heaven really was closed for good.

“The new world order—we’re stuck with it. But that’s not all,” Crowley began.

“What?”

“Abaddon. What she told me," Crowley explained, “we’ve got bigger problems now. Monsters, the remaining Alphas, are trying to bring Eve  _ back _ .”

“What? How!?” Sam half-shouted.

“I’m sorry, who?” Kevin asked, confused.

“Eve, Mother of All,” Crowley answers as he slumped slightly in his seat, “she’s the one who created all monsters—werewolves, vampires, and so on.”

“But why!?  _ How _ !?” Sam pressed.

“Don’t know. I presume that with Heaven weakened, and Abaddon leading Hell into utter chaos, the Alphas saw an opportunity.”

"Great. So, now we find the Alphas and stop them. Or find another phoenix and get its ashes," Sam concluded aloud as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Oh, is that all,” Kevin asked dryly as he crossed his arms.

“Have fun with that,” Crowley stated sarcastically, “What I’m more interested in is  _ how _ they plan to bring back mummy dearest. If my memory serves correctly, you bumbling lot killed her without breaking a sweat. So, the bitch’s soul has been in Purgatory this entire time. What few Alphas remain will have to get creative, since monsters can’t escape Purgatory without a willing  _ human _ vessel and their own corpse to return to. Without that, well…”

Sam paused and turned back towards the King of Hell, “Wait…  _ You _ know about the spell?”

“Of course, I do. I’m bloody  _ Crowley _ .”

“So, what does this mean, exactly?” Kevin asked with uncertainty, looking to the taller hunter for guidance.

“Another apocalypse, maybe?” Sam surmised, “Definitely more monsters to hunt.”

“And the Winchesters at the center of it all,” Crowley added with a snarky smirk, “Guess you better get to work.”


	2. Good Omens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter updated 8/2/2020

“And you’re  _ sure _ he said that the alphas were trying to bring back Eve?”

“For the last time,  _ yes _ ,” Kevin answered with an exasperated sigh, “Abaddon told Crowley that the remaining alphas are working on a way as we speak.”

“Fan- _ fucking _ -tastic.”

Dean continued his restless pacing around the bunker’s library while nursing his third glass of whiskey. As soon as Sam and Kevin learned about the alpha’s plot, Sam wasted no time calling his brother with the news. While the elder of the two Winchesters hadn’t entirely been holding out hope for them finding a way to undo the damage caused by Metatron, he certainly hadn’t been expecting monster mother news. 

“Should’ve killed that snobby, blood-sucking dick when we had the chance,” Dean growled as he took another swig from his drink. He savored the familiar burn as it went down, letting it settle his increasing anxiety. As if they didn’t already have enough on their plates, between a murder-happy Knight of Hell and heavenly chaos among the angels, but add the threat of Eve returning to Purgatory? Moments like these were why Dean kept a flask and pack of cigarettes on-hand.

There was no doubt in his mind that the Alpha Vampire was the ringleader in all of this. Hell, after Eve’s first revival years ago and the head vampire’s failed conspiracy with Dick Roman, was it really any surprise? Twice now, they'd had a chance to kill him, and  _ both _ times, the Winchesters were forced to let him walk free. Nothing drove Dean nuts like an unfinished job, especially since it always seemed to come back and bite them.

“So, get this,” Sam called from the furthest of the library’s tables, once again surrounded by a mountain of research, “I’ve been combing through the Men of Letters’ archives, and it looks like they might have something on Eve and Purgatory.”

“And?”

“Uh, looks like there may have been some sort of secret initiative to find out more about Eve’s origins and the origins of other monsters. According to this, they were looking for a way to eradicate  _ all _ monsters from the U.S. by permanently sealing them in Purgatory.”

“Seriously?! That’s one hell of a game-changer! Wait… Don’t tell me this is another thing like the trials. You barely survived those,” Dean questioned warily. He regretted ever letting his brother take part in those trials in the first place, and they were  _ still _ paying the price.

“Don’t know. Almost all the files have been redacted,” Sam explained, holding up several pages of almost entirely blacked out report notes.

“Of course, they were,” Dean grumbled bitterly as he threw his arms up in annoyance. Kevin let out a heavy sigh and slumped back into his chair, also disappointed.

“ _ But _ , there is some good news,” Sam continued, “I dug a little deeper into the operation, and it looks like the original copies of the research notes were kept by the Men of Letters member who led the operations. A hunter-turned-Man of Letters field agent named James Tennison. Born December 1929, briefly worked for Library of Congress, and based out of a small branch in Washington, DC.”

Dean paused at his brother’s words and furrowed his brow in concentration, “Tennison?” 

“Uh, yeah, that’s what it says here. Why?”

Dean shook his head, “Dunno… That name just sounds familiar to me.”

Sam pondered for a moment, trying to recall the name but just falling short, “Hmm… Maybe an old contact of dad’s?”

“I don’t know…”

“Wait a minute, back up,” Kevin interrupted, “the Men of Letters infiltrated the United States Government?”

“It’s not surprising. Back in their heyday, the Men of Letters had connections all over the world, including Nazi-occupied Germany. They also had a chapter house in every major region of the continental U.S.,” Sam explained.

“So, where is this guy now?” Dean asked impatiently, raising his voice slightly and effectively drawing back his brother’s attention.

“Oh, uh, hang on,” Sam reached across the table for a large, emerald, leather-bound tome containing the Men of Letters’ member registry. Flipping rapidly through the pages, Sam found what he was looking for, and quickly typed away at his laptop. A few, short minutes later, Sam had an answer, “Deceased. Passed away just this past April.”

“Son of a bitch… Well, do we know who his next of kin is? Maybe someone inherited his notes or journals, or whatever.”

“Well, according to his obituary, he’s survived by—oh  _ crap _ .”

“What?”

Sam quickly scanned his laptop screen before slowly turning back towards his brother with a tight-lipped smile, “Five children, 11 grandchildren, and seven great-grandchildren.”

“Oh,  _ fuck _ .” 

“Woah,” Kevin breathed with wide eyes.

“Yeah,” Sam huff bemusedly, “big family.”

“Alright, well we’re gonna need to find out who got those journals,” Dean began with a sigh before turning his attention to Kevin at the neighboring table, “Why don’t you two see if there’s a way to hack a copy of this guy’s will online? Or see if there were any big newspaper announcements, anything that can help us. I’m gonna jump in the shower.”

With that final declaration, Dean strode away, once again leaving Sam and Kevin to do all the research. The pair watched the older hunter round the corner before either spoke up. 

“Why doesn’t  _ he _ ever do any research?”

Sam tipped his head in a slight shrug, “You get used to it.”

By the time Dean had showered, dressed, and made his way back to the library, however, Sam and Kevin had no new leads on the journals. Apparently, the attorney who handled the execution of James Tennison’s will was part of a small-town law firm that still preferred to keep physical copies, rather than join the information age. To make matters worse, said firm had just gone out of business. Any hope the trio had of even getting a copy scanned, faxed, or mailed over to them went swiftly down the drain. It was time for Plan B.

“Alright, then. We’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way. Kev, see if you can put together a phone list for this guy’s kids and any remaining siblings. Sam and I will just have to call them all. Had to go to someone in the brood, right?”

“Yeah, that or favorite grandchild,” Sam nodded in agreement.

“Exactly.”

“Right.” 

Within a matter of minutes, Kevin had managed to compile a list containing all the names, addresses, and phone numbers of James Tennison’s surviving family members—including four siblings. Without wasting any more time, Sam and Dean set to work with the phone interviews while Kevin dug a little bit deeper into the life of the deceased Man of Letters. Both fortunately and unfortunately for them, it was  _ quite _ the experience.

"I swear to God, that was worse than  _ anything _ any demon has done to us," Dean groaned loudly as he flung his phone across the tabletop and dragged his hands down his face.

Sam let out a laugh at his brother's expense, "Dude, why didn't you just hang up?"

"You don’t understand! This old bag just went on and on and on! He was rambling about the lunar landing conspiracy, Obama, and Harper Lee. It was like he was trying to devour my soul! I didn’t even get to ask about any journals; I could barely get a word in edgewise! I feel like I just took a bad acid trip… How long did he have me!?"

"One hour, 15 minutes," Kevin answered with a smirk.

"Oh  _ God _ ," Dean whispered as he stared blankly at the table in front of him, clearly traumatized by the elderly man on the phone.

"Well, while you were busy getting covered in Old Man Jenkins’ whack-a-doo, I made some progress. According to Tennison’s younger sister, there  _ was _ a favorite grandchild--"

"Evie. Yeah, mine said the same thing before going off about the Knights of Columbus infiltrating NASA," Dean explained as he sat upright again, "So, we're looking for an Evelyn Tennison?

"That’s what I thought, too, except I couldn’t find anyone living, by that name, who’s related to our field agent."

"That's because you're looking for the wrong person,” Kevin remarked, “Evie is short for Evan. Evan Rosalie Colt.”

"Really? Huh… Interesting name," Dean remarked.

“I guess. Born September 24th, 1987, she was raised by her grandparents after her parents’ deaths. Was valedictorian in high school, got a Doctorate in Classics and Archaeology from Cambridge University, and works at the United States Department of the Interior Library and Museum in D.C."

Sam and Dean both stared at Kevin for a moment, mouths agape and eyes wide in surprise. 

"You got all that in an hour and 15 minutes?"

" _ Actually _ , I got it in about 10 minutes. Sam asked me to look into the family tree while we were waiting for you to get off the phone," Kevin stated matter-of-factly.

"My  _ apologies _ . Whatever was I thinking?" Dean mock surrendered as Sam chuckled next to him.

"Anyways, the consensus seems to be that if anyone has the journals, it would be her. Otherwise, they'd be at the family property in southern Maryland," Sam concluded.

"Alright, so then how do ya wanna go in? Can’t exactly use our usual get-ups."

"Good point. I’m not exactly thrilled by the possibility of being put back on the FBI's Most Wanted if this goes south…  _ Again _ ," Sam admitted with concern. The pair of hunters had only gotten to enjoy a few short years so far without Federal interference after Leviathans went on a serial killing spree pretending to be them. And that had only been four years after they were cleared with the help of Henriksen in Monument, Colorado before Lilith killed him and anyone else left in that police station. The Winchesters  _ really _ didn’t need a third round on the Federal hit list.

"Yeah, no, thank you. Uhh… How about reporters? Insurance investigators?” 

“Maybe… Inheritance lawyers?" Sam countered uncertainly.

While Sam and Dean continued to bounce ideas back-and-forth, Kevin was busy typing away at his computer. After a moment or two, the young prophet managed to find a seemingly easy solution to their problem.

"Looks like you'll still be able to get in as fake Feds. There's a D.C. event going on all week where museums and private collections throughout the city are open to the public."

Dean smacked the table in jubilation, "Perfect timing!"

"Yeah. Just make sure you're careful about where you go in the building. The museum, library, and auditorium at the main entrance are open, but everything else is still restricted access. And there will be security guards with guns and metal detectors, so, no weapons," Kevin warned.

"We'd better hit the road, then,” Sam stated with a stretch before cleaning up the mass of papers in front of him, “It’s at least a 20-hour drive to D.C., and tomorrow is already Thursday. If we're going to hit the road, we need to go now.”

"Right. Kevin, hold down the fort. We'll call if we need anything. Oh, and don't--"

"Go anywhere near, or talk to, Crowley while you're gone. Yeah. I know."

"Yep," Dean responded with a pop and headed towards the bedrooms to pack his bag. Not even 15 minutes later, the infamous hunters were on their way to the nation's capital.

* * *

Evan made her way down the sidewalk, savoring the cool breeze of an otherwise uncharacteristically humid June morning. Schools had just let out for the summer, which also meant the kick-off of D.C.'s major tourist season, second only to the Cherry Blossom Festival. The only reprieve anyone would be getting for the next few months would be on weekends, and even that was questionable. Otherwise, the swarms of excessive crowds and raucous summer camp groups meant one, long, giant, stress-induced nightmare. If that wasn’t enough, it also just so happened to be Free Museum Week—an effort by the Smithsonian Institute and several government agencies to encourage tourism and education in America’s youths.

Typically, the Department of Interior library was practically empty, save for the random DOI employee or library staff member. The same went for the museum itself, where visitors tended to be few and far between, with the only exceptions typically being private parties. This week, on the other hand, meant troves of people loudly barreling through, disturbing displays, and rearranging books. Just the thought of it made Evan cringe.

On top of dealing with the waves of obnoxious, sweaty tourists, the library had just received 20 new tomes for its collection. All of which still needed to be cataloged and put away, which was now Evan's primary task. It wouldn't have been such a big deal if Evan’s coworkers didn't magically disappear every time a new tour group came through, leaving the young librarian to fend for herself. Evan wasn't stupid by any means; she knew they were doing it on purpose. 

In the almost five months that she had been there, Evan had already received three letters of commendation, as well as a minor promotion. Thanks to her attention to detail and neurotic energy, she managed to clean up a four-year backlog, catalog several boxes worth of donations that her coworkers were  _ still _ sorting through after almost a year, and properly update the library's microfilm collection. Not to mention that she reorganized the shelves to properly match the Library of Congress call system.

While her efficiency and organizational skills made Evan a model employee in the eyes of management, her coworkers all viewed her as a brown nose and a tight ass. Evan knew they badmouthed her often, but most days, she was able to let it roll off her back with the knowledge that she was the better employee with the higher pay (albeit barely). Other times, however, she questioned her career and life choices. Evan was growing increasingly restless, craving a mental challenge. Despite current events and the 20 new books for the library, work was typically dead. Her average workday was boring and underwhelming, full of petty, dried-up, old bats acting like children. Why couldn't she have stayed overseas?

Evan ducked inside the familiar yet tiny, chain coffee shop for a refreshing, morning pick-me-up. Unsurprisingly, it was already buzzing with the usual morning rush. After taking a moment to let her eyes adjust, Evan placed her usual order and maneuvered through the cluster of waiting patrons. Tucking herself against the green-papered wall and next to the self-serve station, Evan pulled a worn copy of  _ Good Omens _ out of her bag and began reading. 

Not even two pages in and out of the corner of her eye, Evan caught sight of a ridiculously tall man squeezing his way to the counter. He had to be close to a foot taller than her, or a half-foot at the very least. Evan subtly observed him from behind her book, making small mental notes regarding his appearance. His hair was a rich, chestnut color, just barely reaching the nape of his neck and the collar of his navy suit. This struck Evan as somewhat odd, considering that most D.C. businesses and government agencies had stringent dress codes, particularly regarding hair. The man was nicely tanned, with a pointed nose, sharp jawline, and immensely broad shoulders. While she couldn't help but admire his good looks, Evan had to wonder how a creature his size managed to squeeze into such a tiny space. 

When the tall stranger finally completed his order, Evan instantly turned her attention back to the passage she had been reading. In her peripheral, she could see him take up across from her, on just the other side of the self-serve station. It wasn't long, however, before Evan got the overwhelming sensation of being watched, and she struggled not to smirk under the man's obvious stare.

"Can I help you?" she asked coyly, refusing to glance up from her book.

"Oh! I, uh," the stranger stammered, clearly caught off-guard, "Sorry, I, uh, I just didn't think anyone still read  _ Good Omens _ ."

" _ Excuse yo _ u!?" Evan gasped dramatically as she smashed her already decrepit book to her chest and whipped her neck to stare at the man. All self-restraint had officially flown out the window. "I'll have you know that this book is highly relevant! It is  _ always _ important that one prepares for the unlikely Armageddon due to Satanic nuns switching Lucifer's baby with that of the American Attaché."

The stranger's eyebrows flew up as he let out a surprised laugh. With a subdued cough, however, he composed himself before speaking, his voice a warm timber not entirely unpleasant to the ear, "That's-that's true! Of course, the actual anti-Christ was a seemingly normal kid from the middle of nowhere."

"Indeed. But I have to ask… did he have a dog?"

The man paused a moment as if he were genuinely trying to remember, "Good question…"

" _ See _ ? This is why one must be ready for the end of days and the eight bikers of the apocalypse. It’s the little details that count."

"So, clearly, you're a  _ Good Omens _ fan," he grinned, tiny dimples forming on his cheeks. It was more of a statement than an actual question. Evan couldn't help but admire his smile and felt herself blush slightly under his gaze. Thankfully, the barista called her order at the counter.

"Trenta, Iced, Black Tea Lemonade. Light Ice."

Evan gratefully grabbed her drink and took a long sip before answering, hoping to cool the slowly growing heat in her cheeks, "Naw, I just aspire to be as all-foreseeing as one Agnes Nutter, witch. Don't let the state of my book fool you."

The stranger let out an amused huff, "Well, just be careful about those nice and accurate prophecies. You won't know them until they hit you."

"Are you saying this from personal experience?" Evan asked with a coquettish smile as she set her drink on the counter beside her.

“You have  _ no _ idea.”

Evan glanced back up at the mystery man and suddenly noticed the intense shade of green the man's eyes were. Or were they grey? Underneath the ambient, soft lighting of the coffee shop, the stranger's eyes seemed to glow and change color. It was, admittedly, hypnotic.

The coffee shop had grown almost unbearably louder in the time the two of them had been there. So much so that Evan could barely make out the barista calling out an order for a straight, black coffee and a Red Eye. It must have been her companion's order because he broke eye contact, nodded to the barista, and reached for the two smaller cups. He was so tall; he barely had to lean around anyone to grab them from the counter. And his hands, Evan noticed, were so huge that they made the cups look child-sized.

"Well, hopefully, those prophecies will be much nicer to you in the future?" Evan called out to him over the crowd before turning to replace her book in her bag. Secretly, she did not want to stop talking to him, but sadly, it was time to return to the real world.

"Maybe," the stranger shrugged casually, "Or, maybe you can turn that around for me?"

Evan snapped her head back up in surprise, shaking a few loose strands of walnut brown hair from her face. With a sly smirk and a wink, her temporary companion walked away, leaving Evan to quirk her brow in interest. It was rare for her to engage in random conversation with strangers, but Evan wasn’t exactly disappointed. Picking up her tea-lemonade, Evan was just about to take a sip when she noticed writing on the side of her cup that had not been there previously:

_ Sam  _

_ 555-0124 _

Evan felt her cheeks flush again and bit her lip to silence the tiny, girlish squeal that threatened to slip out. Turning to look out the shop’s tinted, bay window, she watched as Sam walked away with a sort of strut to him, clearly impressed with himself. Evan couldn't help but smile. Hell,  _ she  _ was impressed that he had somehow managed to sneak his digits onto her cup without her noticing. 

Squeezing out of the now overcrowded and stagnant shop, Evan made her way across the street, through a tiny fountain park, and to the backside of the Main Interior Building. She greeted the security guards as she passed, as she did every morning, and swiped into the building. Off-white painted walls and multi-colored tiles greeted her every step. In between each set of elevators, on the second and first floors at least, was a hand-painted mural depicting either a historical event or Native American tribe. Other paintings included various National Parks and protected species of animals from different regions of the U.S.

Evan descended the brass-railed steps, greeting the facilities and maintenance technicians she worked with before landing her current job. When she made her way across the first floor to the South Lobby to where the library sat, she was unsurprised to see the usual hens clucking away at the front desk. Snatching up two books as she passed, Evan returned them to their respective shelves before locking away her bag and starting her workday. Once again, her coworkers made not-so-subtle commentary and gave her dirty looks. And just like every other day, Evan ignored them, choosing to do her job instead of laze about and gossip. The end of Free Museum Week was in sight, which undoubtedly meant another chaotic day. While Evan may not have been looking forward to the swarms of sweaty people, the early morning exchange with the tall and mysterious Sam had already brightened her day.


	3. Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter updated 8/9/2020

Sam strode up to his brother, a small bounce in his step as he handed Dean his usual coffee order.

"You have no right to be so chipper in this weather," Dean griped bitterly as he shot Sam a dirty look, "What's got you in such a good mood?"

Sam shrugged nonchalantly, "We're in a historical city, about to walk into a normally restricted-access library. Not many folks get this opportunity, Dean."

"Aww. Mr. Man of Letters is all excited to see _books_! You'd probably jizz your shorts if you went to the capitol building," Dean mocked as he took a swig from his morning brew, the duo making their way down the block to the main entrance of the Department of Interior.

"Bite me."

Sam and Dean crossed the street and made their way up the stone steps of the federal building. Like most buildings throughout DC, the sandstone exterior was familiar yet imposing. Colossal pilasters and pillars stood guard over antique, weathered, bronze doors while hundreds of windows littered the upper half of the otherwise plain exterior. Admittedly, the Winchesters almost drove past it at first, not noticing the historical building tucked behind a line of trees and a giant, antiqued statue of a man astride a horse. The Main Interior Building blended into the background of the city, easily mistaken for just another piece of the Smithsonian Institute.

As soon as they walked through the two sets of double doors into the lobby, the two hunters were greeted by a sudden blast of cold air. Compared to the surprisingly stagnant humidity of summer in Downtown DC, it was a welcome relief. Polished, tan, and brown floors and more Indian sandstone decorated the main lobby. Behind the mahogany security desk, mounted on the central pillar, were the portraits of the Secretary of the Interior and the standing President of the United States. To their right sat the entrance to the auditorium, decorated floor-to-ceiling in vintage, 1930s woodwork. And to their left, flanked by "Free Museum Week" banners and a set of metal detectors, was the entrance to the library.

The first thing the brothers noticed upon entering the library was a miniature buffalo on display in the center of the room, protected by a glass case. "Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam," Dean crooned off-key with a grin. Sam simply rolled his eyes and shook his head. Unlike his brother, Sam was far more interested in the library itself.

More checkered tiles and off-white sandstone adorned the walls and floor of the library’s main area. Two, long, mahogany tables similar to the ones in the Bunker sat on either side of the buffalo figure, with a matching receptions desk backed against the entryway to a smaller, wood-paneled area. While the main section of the library was relatively sparse, the upper level, which Sam could see clearly from the first floor, was lined top to bottom with shelves practically full of books. Knowing that they were standing in a library usually restricted to federal employees only, it took every ounce of willpower the younger Winchester had to combat the itch of curiosity.

Sam and Dean strode up to the reference desk where a rather bored-looking, middle-aged woman sat flipping through a magazine. As soon as she noticed the two hunters approach, however, she perked up instantly. 

"How can I help you, gentlemen," she asked sweetly, shamelessly raking her eyes over both of them.

"I'm Special Agent Plant. This is my partner, Special Agent Page," Dean introduced as he and Sam flashed their fake FBI badges. Thank God Kevin thought ahead and made sure their IDs were up to snuff, "We're looking for a coworker of yours named Evan Colt. We understand that she's a librarian and curator here?"

Almost instantly, the sweet smile was replaced with a sour pucker as the woman rolled her eyes and let out an annoyed huff, "Oh. _Of course_ , you are. She's up there," the woman pointed dismissively, "Stairs on the right."

Sam and Dean nodded their thanks and exchanged brief, wide-eyed looks as they made their way towards the stairs to the library's mezzanine level. The woman crossed her arms and watched resentfully as they walked away, making both men uncomfortable. Once certain they were out of earshot, the pair immediately began discussing the abrupt attitude change.

"Dude, what the hell was that about?" Dean muttered, casting a glance back over his shoulder. The middle-aged receptionist was still watching silently judging their every step.

"Dunno, but clearly, our fellow legacy has made some friends."

"Oh, yeah, they’re _total_ besties," Dean commented sarcastically.

Once they climbed to the upper level of the library, it didn't take Sam and Dean long to locate their target. The moment Sam saw her, however, his breath caught in his throat. Perched atop a ladder and busy cataloging several large books was the _Good Omens_ girl Sam had given his number to not even an hour prior. White, collared, cotton shirt with grey, plaid skirt, tousled, chocolate hair partially tied back with messy, side-swept bangs—Sam recognized her immediately. Just like when he first saw her in the cramped coffee shop, the younger Winchester couldn’t help but stare.

"Oh, shit! _Finally_ , a hot librarian!" Dean hissed excitedly.

Sam grunted in acknowledgment, feeling the heat rise in his ears and face, "Just keep it in your pants, Casanova."

As ashamed as he was to admit it, Sam couldn't help but stare as her dark, thigh-high stockings peeked out from underneath her skirt as she leaned over to put a book away. Or appreciate how the soft, supple curve of her backside accentuated her feminine frame. It went without saying, this view was undoubtedly preferable to only being able to partially see her from behind a coffee self-serve station. That wasn't to say she hadn't been pleasant to look at earlier. In fact, Sam found her to be quite pretty, with long lashes and youthful, girlish features. However, Sam also knew that if he appreciated Evan’s appearance, his brother _definitely_ was going to make a move on her, much to his dismay.

Both men paused a moment and tilted their heads in admiration. After giving the silent “how ya doin’,” Sam and Dean both straightened and returned their attention to the task at hand.

"Ms. Colt? If we could have a moment?" Dean called up to her, flashing his badge when she peeked at him from underneath her arm.

"Sure thing."

Setting the remaining three books atop the nearest shelf, Evan kicked her supporting leg out behind her, and gracefully slid down the ladder. Both Sam and Dean jumped slightly in surprise when she suddenly landed before them. Turning around, Evan's breath hitched, and she paused at the familiar face.

" _Agent_ Sam," she grinned coyly, "I have to wonder about those nice and accurate prophecies if I'm seeing you again so soon."

Sam let out a bemused huff and smiled at her in return, "Oh, I don't know. At least it's not Sgt. Shadwell coming to interview you."

"If it were Shadwell interviewing me, he'd accuse me of being a harlot before I could even open my mouth to speak,” Evan snarked in response, “At least you have nicer hair." 

Sam ducked his chin and laughed shyly as Evan watched with a tiny smirk. Dean glanced between the two of them, very much feeling like a third wheel who missed an inside joke. Rolling his eyes, Dean cleared his throat and got their attention. It would have been a little nice to know that his brother had already met who they were coming to interview.

"Ms. Colt—"

"Evan."

"Evan," Dean continued, "We're here to ask you a few questions regarding your grandfather."

Evan's smile faltered, and her face noticeably fell. Swallowing hard, Evan subconsciously hunched her shoulders and clasped her hands behind her back, "What would you like to know?"

"We know he passed away a few months ago. We're sorry for your loss," Sam said sympathetically.

"Thank you…”

"Your grandfather raised you, correct?"

Evan nodded, "Yes. He and my grandmother did after my parents died. But you already know that don’t you?"

"Just verifying some things," Dean reassured, "Now, Evan, we were wondering if your grandfather kept any journals when he was alive. Were working on an old, cold case and think there might be something in his journals that could help us."

“Your family said that you’d be the one to have them if he did,” Sam added.

Evan hummed in response, eyeing Sam and Dean warily.

"What?"

"You aren't the first ones to come asking about granddad's journals," Evan explained as she leaned back against the ladder.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances at this information, "Who else came asking about them?"

Evan took a deep breath, "Well, about a week or two after he died, some woman from veteran affairs came by the house. And then, just last week, a couple of guys came in here who claimed they were researching his old Naval Reserve group.”

"I take it you didn't believe them," Sam surmised.

"Look, history and research are _kinda_ my thing... Obviously. If you're going to do any sort of military research, you'd typically do something surrounding a major war, skirmish, or battle. Even minor ones would get looked into, depending on the war," Evan explained rather expressively, her head bobbing and hands waving as she spoke. "So, that being said, nobody looking for interesting military history is going to come snooping for information on the naval reserves from a salty, backwater, middle-of-nowhere town during the 1950s."

"Not unless they had a personal interest," Sam concluded again. Evan shrugged her shoulders and nodded in agreement.

"Point taken,” Dean conceded, “What else can you tell us about these people?"

Evan scrunched up her face as she wracked her memory, "Umm… Well, it was two months ago, but the woman from Veteran Affairs was sharply dressed in a black suit. Brunette, skinny, looked like a typical Fed. But the two guys from last week," Evan bit the inside of her lip in thought, "Not like they belonged in a federal building."

"How so?"

"Try grungy, roadie-rejects in cheap suits. Security kept an eye on them too since they looked and acted a little shady. It's summer, and its unseasonably warm already, so of course, we get people off the street who just pop in to cool off and carry on their merry way. But these guys? They made everybody cringe."

Sam and Dean pondered for a moment at Evan’s words. With Alphas working to bring Eve back, it wouldn’t have been surprising that they would send someone after the journals. But twice? Something about it just didn’t sit right.

"So, _do_ you have the journals?" Sam asked.

" _Technically,_ I do, but," Evan paused and cast her gaze down at her feet. 

“But what?” Dean pressed.

“They’re packed away n boxes, somewhere in storage,” Evan said softly, “I almost took a peek at them, but just couldn’t quite bring myself to, yet. I have no clue what’s in them…" 

Sam gave her a sympathetic look. It was apparent that Evan was still taking her grandfather's passing hard. It was unsurprising considering that it had only just _barely_ been two months.

"We understand," Dean nodded solemnly, "Now, tell us, have you noticed any strange smells lately? Like rotten eggs or sulfur?"

Sam whipped his head so fast that it should have snapped his neck in half. Evan furrowed her brows in confusion at the question.

"What?"

"Maybe anyone with strange colored, or black eyes?"

Evan stared at Dean like he grew an extra head, mouth agape.

"Sorry. He, uh, i-ignore him. We'll just- We'll be in touch if we have any other questions," Sam recovered quickly, smiling awkwardly at Evan as he shoved his brother back towards the stairs. "Thank you for your time."

"Yeah… Uh-huh," Evan narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms as she watched the pair leave. She could see Sam angrily, yet quietly scold his partner as they walked away. Clearly, he wasn't too happy with those questions, although they were strange questions, to begin with.

Slowly turning around, Evan re-climbed the ladder and attempted to resume her previous task. But just as she picked up a book, she hesitated and rotated on the ladder to look down at the main floor. The two federal agents were talking heatedly while they walked, both taking long strides out of the library and around the corner. So many people had come asking about the journals, more than she had previously let on to the supposed agents. It was getting to the point where Evan was growing increasingly suspicious. After having received seven different inquiries, Evan was withholding details on sheer principle. It certainly didn't help that the majority of people had been overly pushy, although Sam and his “partner” had been far more accommodating.

Quickly getting back to task, Evan appropriately shelved the three books and descended the ladder once again. Making her way downstairs to the main floor, Evan ignored the judgmental looks of her coworker and beelined straight to her locker in the back. Once sure that she was alone, Evan unlocked and opened it, and pulled out a worn, leather-bound journal. Gently tracing her fingers over the engraving on the cover, she soon became lost in thought. Admittedly, Evan had initially liked Sam, when they flirted in the coffee shop, but their second meeting had left her feeling wary. There was no _way_ that he and his "partner" were federal agents, not with those cheap suits, scuffed shoes, and Sam's hair. Evan hugged the journal to her chest and breathed deeply—something was wrong, and it was starting to scare her.

* * *

"Dude! What the fuck!? Why the hell are you asking her about _demons_? We already know it's monsters who want the book," Sam hissed as they made their way back to the Impala.

"Think about it, Sammy, Crowley was told by _Abaddon_ that Alphas are trying to resurrect Eve. Why would she just let that slide? Monsters kill demons, too. Eve coming back not only means trouble for Crowley but for the red-headed bitch as well."

"So, what, you think she put a hit out on Evan so she could get the journals?"

"Maybe. Sure as hell wouldn’t put it past her. But consider this: those journals could contain a way to seal up Purgatory forever. With heaven on lockdown and Crowley off the playing field—"

"Getting those journals would guarantee Abaddon the throne to Hell and make demons the top of the food chain," Sam concluded, leaning his elbows against the roof of the Impala as realization set in.

"Yahtzee. I'll tell ya what else—we definitely gotta keep an eye on Evan. She's a walking target for every bad son-of-a-bitch out there, whether or not those journals actually have what they're looking for," Dean pointed out.

Sam let out a sigh and looked away. Dean was right, Evan was basically a sitting duck. If monsters didn't get to her out of impatience or desperation, Abaddon just might. Perhaps the biggest rub, however, had to be that Evan’s life as she knew it was officially over.

“Don’t worry, Sammy, we’ll protect your girlfriend,” Dean smirked.

Sam rolled his eyes and gave his brother his best bitch-face, “Dude. Don’t start.”

“What? I’m just sayin,’ you two were getting pretty friendly back there.”

“We just talked while waiting for coffee this morning. That’s _all_ ,” Sam argued, heat rising in his cheeks again.

“Hey man, I get it,” ignoring his brother’s protest, “Soft curves, pretty, and those thigh highs? Mmf… Wonder if she’s a _naughty_ librarian?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Sam let out an annoyed huff and jerked open Baby’s passenger door. Climbing in to temporarily cease Dean’s immature teasing, he slammed the door and waited for him. As soon as Sam had ducked inside the car, Dean’s smile faltered. Yet another innocent person was about to get their world flipped upside-down by demons and the supernatural. Not to mention that Ezekiel still had his brother on the mend. How many more cases until Sam figured it out? Until he realized something was going on behind his back? Dean stared thoughtfully at the building they had just left for a moment before also climbing in.

The two hunters made their way back to their motel room just outside the city to shower and change. They both seriously doubted that anything supernatural would be dumb enough to make a move at a federal building in broad daylight. So, Sam and Dean decided that it made more sense to return at the end of Evan’s shift. In the meantime, the brothers grabbed some food and hit the books again, dialing Kevin back at the Bunker to see if he uncovered anything on his end.

"Whatcha got, Kevin?"

"Nothing new so far about Eve or the Alphas," he admitted, "But I did some more digging on Tennison."

"And?"

"Nothing really out of the ordinary. Was a mechanic for a post office for a few years before becoming Postmaster General, his wife worked for the Census Bureau until she retired in ’87, they moved back to his family's property in Southern Maryland full-time two years later…"

"So, that family has a history of government connections," Dean concluded.

"Basically."

"Not surprising, given the area," Sam commented, “Lots of long-rooted families in the DMV are federal or state employees. Plus, seeing as he _was_ a Man of Letters…”

"Good point,” Dean conceded.

"Hey, do you think his wife was a member, too? Wouldn't be the first time they welcomed a woman among the ranks, especially considering Josie Sands."

“Hmm… Hey, Kev, see what you can dig up on this guy’s wife. There might be a possibility that she was a member, too."

"Will do."

"Call us when you find something."

Dean hung up the call and stared at his phone a moment. Lightly squeezing the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, Dean’s brows furrowed as he once again became lost in thought. He could _swear_ that he knew the name Tennison from somewhere but couldn't quite place it. It had been nagging at the back of his mind ever since Sam came across it at the Bunker. Until they knew for certain that Evan was out of harm's way and had secured the journals, however, it was just going to have to wait.


	4. Night at the Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter updated 8/26

The rest of the day seemed to fly by after Evan's strange encounter with the supposed “federal agents.” Before she knew it, five o'clock came and went, and the building became a ghost town. Tonight, just like every Thursday night in the nation's capital, folks would swarm the highways and metro stations, and head out for the weekend. Recent graduates flocked to Ocean City to celebrate their newfound freedom, while young families took off for vacation after another successful school year. Taking note of the time and knowing full well that she would _not_ want to get stuck on the over-crowded metro, Evan decided to stay later than usual.

Three tour groups had come through earlier in the day, followed small bursts of families. Between the onslaught of clamorous guests and constantly having her mind drift back to the two journals, as well as the morning’s events, Evan found it increasingly difficult to stay on task. However, she had still managed to get the majority of a large box of books logged into the system. With only three books left to shelve, the young curator hoped to have a laid-back Friday and a smooth end to what turned out to be perhaps the busiest week in the Interior Library’s history.

Outside, Sam and Dean watched the main entrance from the comfort of the Impala. The building had just about shut down for the day, the crowds thinned out, and Evan would presumably be getting off work at any minute. There were a few stray people who meandered into the building since the brothers parked across the street an hour before visiting hours ended, but no one worth noting. Mostly it was the building maintenance’s evening shift and parents swinging back with their cars to pick up their children from the employee childcare center. In the blink of an eye, the car radio flashed seven o’clock, and Dean’s boredom was starting to get the better of him.

"Man, you sure that no one is gonna go in the other entrance?" Dean asked as he once again shifted restlessly in his seat.

"The north lobby closes earlier than this one and doesn't allow visitors. Plus, the museum closed at four-thirty and the library at five," Sam stated plainly, keeping his eyes on the front of the building.

"Why do you know that? I swear, it's like you're a fucking encyclopedia of random knowledge. You gonna tell me the place was built during the Civil War next?" Dean retorted dramatically. Despite being later in the day, it was still way too hot to be stuck inside the Impala on a stake-out. Especially when the a/c never seemed to work and having the windows open only let in more stagnant air.

" _Actually_ , it was built in 1936 as the first of many New Deal buildings by the FDR Administration. It was meant to emphasize the 'heroic age of government,' and set a precedent for the rest of DC as we know it today." Dean stared blankly at his brother, who was still refusing to look at him, "You'd know that too if you'd ever actually do research instead of watching cartoon porn and sleeping," Sam chided as he whipped his head sharply and gave Dean an unamused look.

Dean scrunched his face and imitated Sam with a mocking voice, " _If YoU'd EvEr acTuAllY dO ReSeArCh…_ Yeah, yeah, whatever, bitch."

Sam let out a heavy, annoyed sigh and rolled his eyes so hard they saw the curvature of the earth, "Jerk."

The scorching heat was getting to both of them. Something had to give, and _soon_. Sam was ready to snap, especially if Dean was going to keep grunting and jostling about in the driver's seat. Sweat was slowly gliding down his spine and forehead, reappearing instantly no matter how many times he wiped it away. Both men had shed their usual, excessive, outer layers, leaving them in just jeans and t-shirts. But even that wasn’t quite cutting it. At least out in the midwest, they had rolling winds. But here, amid the carbon fumes and overcrowded streets of the concrete jungle? It was practically suffocating, and every few minutes, Dean whined about it. Sam was just starting to contemplate getting the duct tape out of the trunk when he noticed two grungy-looking men walk up to the building.

"Hey."

"Hm," Dean grunted in acknowledgment.

“Check them out,” Sam nodded towards the two men, and Dean slid forward to get a better view. The men were slim build and a bit rough looking, with messy hair and a five o’clock shadow worse than Dean’s on a bad day. Honestly, the pair looked like they belonged in a roadhouse or dive bar, rather than a federal building. What made them _really_ catch the Winchesters’ attentions, however, was the fact that they seemed to be hugging the building and trees as they walked.

"Looks like our mystery researchers have returned, " Dean commented.

"Yeah… They walking weird to you?"

Dean furrowed his brow in concentration as he watched, but smoothed out when the realization hit him, "Now what do we know that avoids sunlight? Usually prefers dark places and nocturnal activities?"

Sam turned towards his brother and exchanged looks before they both jumped out of the car.

 _Vampires_.

* * *

Evan was softly humming "Fly Me to the Moon" as she finished up her work, her mind having drifted far, far away once more. Quiet nights like this were what she appreciated most, giving her time alone to clear her head. The journals remained tucked safely in her bag, now hidden behind the reference desk below, where they called out to her. So many people had come asking about her grandfather’s journals lately; it was equal parts concerning and annoying. Between work, settling her grandparents’ estate, and folks fussing, Evan barely had the chance to mourn his death properly. She had to admit, recent events certainly piqued her interest, not that that was necessarily hard to do-- Evan could never resist the opportunity to uncover something secret or potentially forbidden. It was a trait that, unfortunately, got her into trouble a few times as a child, but proved useful when researching for her dissertation. Now, as an adult in her mid-twenties, Evan had _much_ better self-control… Or at least, that was what she told herself.

A sudden boom echoed across the library, like a heavy book being knocked over. Startled by the sudden disruption to her quiet solitude, Evan gently set the books she was putting away atop the shelf and cautiously walked over to the Mezzanine balcony. Peering over the railing to the floor below, nothing seemed out of place— no books were on the ground or left out, no displays turned over, and her bag remained safely tucked away. There was not a soul to be seen, and the library fell silent once more.

Evan furrowed her brow in confusion and listened intensely as she scanned the floor below. The guys in facilities had always joked that the building was haunted, but Evan always brushed it off as nonsense. If the guys _really_ wanted haunted, they could just visit Evan’s hometown. Regardless of doubt, Evan wasn’t exactly what one would consider the bravest of sorts and had no intention of testing any theories or superstitions. Giving herself a little shake, Evan turned back to the shelves behind her, only to bump into something solid.

"Good evening, Ms. Colt. We’d like to check out a book."

Evan looked up to find one of the supposed researchers from a week prior, staring down at her. The man grinned sinisterly with dirty, crooked teeth, sending chills down her spine. A moment later, however, a second set of extremely sharp teeth descended as he growled lowly.

Evan let out a startled squeak and turned to run away, only to be grabbed roughly by the man. Arms pinned and her body pulled flush to the intruder, she could do little else but kick and scream, hopeful that one of the security guards out in the lobby would hear her. As the would-be-assailant tried to drag her away, Evan twisted in his arms and managed to kick off the balcony railing, smashing them both into a nearby bookcase. As she stumbled out of the man’s grip, the second man attempted to grab at her as well, causing Evan to trip and flip over the railing.

"EVAN!"

Sam and Dean rushed into the library, alarmed by the sight of Evan dangling from above. She clung desperately to the slick, sandstone ledge, her hands struggling to get a firm grip. Tears began to stream down her face as she swung, terrified of the roughly 30-foot drop to the stone tiles below.

"I got them; you catch her!" Dean shouted as he tore off towards the staircase, machete in hand.

The two men rushed to grab Evan in a chaotic attempt to drag her back before Dean reached them. Evan screamed and kicked as they pulled at her, compromising her already unstable grip, and almost tearing her arm from its socket. Dean quickly caught up to them, however, and, with a flourish of his blade, chopped the head off one of the vampires. Dropping Evan's hands roughly, the remaining vampire started brawling with the hunter.

“Hey! Drop down! I've got you!" Sam called from below, arms ready to catch her.

Evan shut her eyes tight and hesitated momentarily. While she was desperate to escape her would-be kidnappers, she was also uncertain about trusting some strange man she’d only just met earlier that day. Swallowing hard, Evan chose the lesser of two evils and, with shaking arms and a quiet gasp, let go. The fall was simultaneously never-ending and alarmingly brief. With a loud grunt, Sam successfully caught Evan and pulled her tightly against his chest as she let out a frightened sob.

"Sam! We've got company!" Dean bellowed, as three more vampires appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

Sam moved to set Evan on the edge of the reference desk and glanced to where his brother was fighting above them. He could hear bookcases smashing, and the sounds of Dean’s struggle, as well as what he could only assume was glass shattering. Turning back to the frightened librarian, Sam gave Evan a quick once-over, looking for any bite marks or injuries. She was trembling and hyperventilating, with bruises already forming around her wrists, right elbow, and biceps. For the most part, however, she appeared to have gotten away unscathed. Evan’s face was red, and tears were still streaming down her cheeks while she struggled to regain control of her breathing. If Sam hadn't been holding her upright, Evan surely would have crumpled to the floor.

"Hey, hey… It's alright. You're okay. Breathe for me," Sam soothed, watching anxiously as she seemed to steady a bit.

"SAM!"

Sam's eyes shot upwards, adrenaline causing his head to pound, "Hey, I gotta go help him, but you stay right here, okay? I'll come right back."

Evan swallowed hard again and nodded shakily. With her go-ahead, Sam darted off in a blur, rushing to get to his brother. Evan could hear crashes and cursing as Sam joined the brawl above. The echoes bounced off the stone walls around her, amplifying every sound— why hadn't security come running yet? Finally regaining some semblance of mental function, and maintaining eye contact with the floor above, Evan silently slipped off the desk onto wobbly legs. Crawling behind the desk, she pulled her linen messenger bag from the chair and checked that the journals were still in-tact. Stumbling slightly, Evan ran from the chaos in the library.

Out in the lobby, Evan skidded to a halt and let out a surprised scream at the sight. Four security guards lay prone, blood pooled around them, and their throats ripped out. Falling to her knees, Evan attempted to wake the guard nearest her, shaking him desperately as she prayed for any signs of life.

"Oh please, oh please..."

Nothing. Another loud crash sounded from the library, causing Evan to jump. Snatching up her bag, Evan took off again, slipping slightly on the blood. Through the heavy double-doors, around the corner, and up the block towards the backside of the building, Evan ran. It wasn't until she crashed into the hood of a DC police cruiser that she stopped. Flailing and babbling incoherently, Evan struggled to tell the officers what happened as they stepped out and attempted to calm her down. Once they saw the bruises and the blood on her knees, however, they immediately kicked into gear.

Everything that came after was a blur. Evan couldn't remember telling the police a hysterical recounting of what happened. She couldn't remember them setting her down in the back of the police cruiser, calling in back-up, or watching as at least a dozen capital police vehicles swarmed the building. EMTs checked Evan over, cleaned and treated her albeit minor injuries, and eventually informed the officers of her going catatonic in response to trauma. At one point, someone had wrapped a blanket tightly around her to help stop the shaking, despite the warm and humid evening. Nothing seemed to register in Evan's distressed state. Her mind was abuzz as it continuously replayed the night’s events on loop. And the _blood_! Just so much blood...

News reporters eventually flooded the scene, several of which attempted to get her attention for interviews. But Evan couldn't hear any of it, her mind simultaneously humming and pounding from the adrenaline rush. She was temporarily blinded by the searchlight of a helicopter flying overhead, but it quickly refocused on the main entrance to the building. Hours passed, and Evan gave official statements to both capital police and the FBI, turned over her bloody stockings and shoes as evidence, and signed a waiver refusing a mental health evaluation. Once the FBI had been granted access to security footage by the remaining two security guards, who had been patrolling the upper floors during the incident, Evan was finally cleared and released. One of the DC officers offered to drive her home, which she greatly appreciated despite the trip being spent mostly in silence. 

When they arrived at her apartment complex, the officer gave Evan his business card, as well as the card of a mental health professional just in case she needed someone to talk to later. He genuinely seemed concerned, but in her emotionally exhausted state, Evan honestly couldn't be bothered to entirely care. Once safely inside her building, the officer nodded farewell and took his leave.

Evan sluggishly trudged her way to the third floor, her body protesting as the night’s events settled into her bones. Slipping quietly inside her studio apartment, Evan let out a deep sigh. It was tiny, dark, and sparsely decorated, but after the culmination of everything that had happened, Evan was simply happy to be home. Dropping her bag on one of the giant, blue, floor cushions, she collapsed onto her soft, makeshift bed and closed her eyes. The canvas material was cool against her skin and felt soothing as her body finally decompressed. Everything hurt, her joints were stiff, she was exhausted, and a migraine was steadily beating against her skull. For an hour or so, Evan laid there, wanting to drift off but still restless enough for sleep to be just outside her reach.

Eventually, Evan heaved herself off the floor cushion couch and groaned as she rolled softly onto the laminate floor. It took another few minutes for her to muster the willpower to get herself off the floor and to the bathroom. As she brushed her teeth, Evan made a half-hearted mental note to call her cousin in the morning and let him know what happened. No doubt that her face would be plastered all over the midnight and early morning news with some sort of exaggerated story that only got a portion of the details correct. The moment Evan came back out to the only other room in her apartment, face washed, and clothes changed, all thoughts were pushed from her mind. Letting out another exhausted sigh, Evan collapsed onto the cushions again and finally passed out. Everything would just have to wait until tomorrow.

* * *

Sam and Dean snuck out of the back of the Department of Interior just as police officers were getting Evan settled and calling in back-up. From where they came out, the Winchesters could see her distraught and looking worse-for-wear. She was hunched forward, with her dark brown hair having fallen in her face. In seconds, they could hear sirens ringing out from all over the city and took off running around the other side of the building to where they left Baby.

"Remember how I said I wasn't thrilled about the idea of being back on the FBI's Most Wanted?" Sam asked breathlessly as Dean started up the engine and took off towards their motel.

"Yeah, that just went to shit," Dean spat as he reached into his door and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Usually, he tried to smoke only sparingly and sure as hell not when Sam was around to nark on him for it, but at the moment, he really didn’t care. They knew to expect the two men that were tussling with Evan when they first arrived, but the other ones were a nasty surprise. To make matters worse, two of the newcomers to the fight were _werewolves_. Crime Scene Investigators were certainly in for a nasty surprise.

"Since when the fuck do vamps and werewolves work together?" Dean growled as he tore out onto the highway, double-checking the rearview every few seconds to make sure they weren't being pursued.

"I don't know," Sam admitted with a shake of his head, "As far as the lore goes, they've always been natural enemies in the monster world."

"Well, clearly, _they_ didn't get the memo."

Dean took a long pull from his cigarette and blew it out the cracked window as he tried to calm down. Tensions were high; it had been a rough fight inside the library, with Sam having almost been thrown over the upper-level rail and Dean close to having been bitten. The bullets coated in dead man's blood had proven useful, but neither hunter was prepared for the werewolves. Thankfully, there had been several, silver artifacts on display that served as useful makeshift weapons. When they returned to the main floor of the library, however, both Winchesters panicked when they found their traumatized librarian missing. Initially, they had assumed that Evan had been snatched up by another monster since they had heard her scream during the fight. Finding her safely outside in police custody was admittedly a relief, but also further complicated the situation.

"So, what now?" Sam asked eventually, eying his brother warily as he burned through his cigarette while they both tried to wind down. 

Sam knew his brother had a nicotine habit. For the most part, he was a social or stress smoker, having initially picked it up sometime in their teenage years. While he was with Lisa, Dean had managed to kick the habit, but upon returning from Purgatory, doubled down on his cigarette intake. Dean usually tried to keep it secret, purposefully waiting until Sam was asleep or they were at a bar before sneaking one in. Try as he might to hide it, Sam could always smell the faint hint of smoke on his brother’s clothes, especially after a bad hunt. However, the younger Winchester knew all too well that there was no point in arguing over his brother’s vices.

Dean sat quietly for a moment, taking time to think over the situation before answering, "We're gonna have to go steal the journals. Get them far away from Evan, and hopefully lure any other monsters away before she gets killed."

"What if that doesn't work, though?" Sam questioned, "For all we know, they’ll still come after her regardless. We’ve seen it happen before."

Dean tongued the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. Sam had a point— who was to say that the alphas wouldn't send someone else to kill Evan on principle at this point? Or worse, _turn her_? Based on past experiences alone, the hunters knew alphas were calculating and ruthless. Even if he and Sam could get the journals away from her, there was still no guarantee that Evan would ever be safe.

"She's gonna have to go into hiding," Dean concluded finally, letting out a puff of smoke, "At least until everything blows over and we take care of the alphas."

Sam let out a deep breath through his nose and sat quietly for a moment, "So, just like with Kevin…"

Dean stared ahead at the road, not responding right away. Kevin still fought them on a regular basis about staying in the bunker. But between Abaddon and the newly fallen angels still itching for him, he was stuck. Add the promise of Eve’s return to the mix, and any hope of Kevin’s freedom went out the window. Originally, it had been the goal to let the young prophet go home once the gates of Hell were sealed. They all knew how that had turned out, however. The Winchesters had sent Kevin to Atlantic City for a weekend, just to give him a bit of a break and some fresh air, but it wasn't the same. How many more people's lives were they going to uproot for the sake of protection and possibly saving the world? Try as he might to hide it, Dean felt equally guilty about Kevin’s situation. Yet, deep down, he secretly enjoyed the expansion of their tiny, makeshift family. How selfish was that?

Dean took a final pull from his cigarette and jammed the remaining butt into a water bottle he kept hidden in his door, "Yeah… Just like Kevin."


	5. Breaking and Entering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter updated 9/21

It was a little after two in the morning when Sam and Dean pulled up to Evan’s apartment complex in Takoma Park. After making their getaway and returning to the motel room, the brothers hurriedly packed their bags and got out of dodge. Kevin tracked down Evan’s address, and Sam and Dean came up with a plan as they headed over. Despite the obscene hour, the roads had been surprisingly busy. Sirens and car horns continued to echo into the night while light pollution and streetlamps overhead made for easy navigation of the complex. Once inside Evan’s building, however, the noise instantly faded away, leaving only the soft buzzing of the fluorescents overhead.

Cautiously the Winchesters made their way to the third floor, becoming acutely aware of how every thud of their boots seemed to echo off the concrete walls and outdated tiles. It certainly made their task much more difficult. Years of breaking and entering during hunts hadn’t quite prepared the Winchesters for the level of stealth required for simply climbing a flight of stairs. It was days like today that made them question why they ever stopped wearing sneakers. Even the sound of Dean picking the lock to Evan's apartment seemed to reverberate all around them.

After several tense moments, the lock finally gave way with a loud ‘ _CLICK_ ,' sending both Sam and Dean into a moment of panic. The pair whirled their heads, eyes wide and shoulders tense as they surveyed the landing and listened for any signs of life. Once confident that none of Evan's neighbors had heard them, however, Sam and Dean each let out heavy sighs of relief and silently entered the apartment. As soon as the door closed, the apartment became blanketed in darkness as black as pitch. Whatever minuscule amount of light did come through the windows from the streetlamps outside was diminished by the blinds and blackout curtains. Taking a moment to let their eyes adjust, the Winchesters could eventually make out the darker shapes of Evan's furniture, but just barely.

“How the fuck are we supposed to find the damn books when we can’t even see our hands in front of our faces?” Dean hissed from somewhere in front of Sam.

“I don't know,” he whispered back, “I guess we go low? We can't exactly light anything without getting her attention.”

“Man, this fucking su— _OOF_!”

There came a sudden crash from where Dean's voice had previously been. It sounded like wood breaking, and Sam wondered if his brother had tripped over a table or bookcase in the dark.

“Dean? Are you— _YOW!_ ”

Something heavy and metallic suddenly connected with the side of Sam's head, knocking him into the wall behind him. Sam could feel his vision tilt after the impact as his equilibrium went out of whack, and his ears began ringing. With a soft ' _click_ ,' light flooded the apartment, revealing a distressed and somewhat sleep-addled Evan wielding a large frying pan. Her dark walnut-colored hair was falling out of place, and the straps of her cotton sleep romper had slipped off her shoulders, making Evan look a lot less threatening than intended.

“I _knew_ you weren’t federal agents! And your hair isn’t federal regulation,” she huffed out, pointing the pan at Sam, “Now, _talk_! And don’t think I won’t use this!”

Sam shakily raised his hands in surrender, his head still spinning as he remained on the floor. He was reasonably sure that he now had a concussion. Despite her slim appearance, Evan had quite a swing. Glancing to his left, Sam could see his brother's boots tangled in a heap with Evan's now-demolished dining set. Taking a moment to fully grasp his surroundings, Sam could easily understand how she got the drop on them. The apartment was surprisingly small, consisting of a single room with a galley-style kitchen separated by only a half wall. The only other door in the apartment, aside from the main door, led to what looked like the bathroom. Two perfect corners to hide behind, although Sam admittedly did not know which she used.

Surprisingly, the place lacked personal touches, with only a small TV, floor lamp, rolling clothes rack, and what looked like a couch made of giant, square, floor cushions. There were no pictures, wall decorations, or homey touches, except for a small fern perched atop the half-wall separating the kitchen. Hell, Evan didn't even have a bed.

“Alright, okay,” Sam conceded as he shook his hair from his face, “You’re right. We’re not federal agents--”

“ _Who_ are you?!” Evan ground out, “And what the hell was with those guys at the library!? They had _teeth_! Sharp, pointy, chomp-chomp _teeth_!” She exclaimed, mimicking the chomping motion. Evan was still worked up from the events just hours prior, and the current situation did not help.

“You wouldn’t believe us if we told you,” Dean groaned as he slowly pushed the broken pieces of wood off himself, “Ugh, crap… What _was_ that? Cast iron?”

“Cephalon, actually,” Evan corrected, “Does it look like I can afford cast iron?”

Dean paused as he sat up and looked around, furrowing his brow in disappointment, “Thought it would be bigger...”

“Seriously?” Evan quirked an eyebrow at the older man in disbelief, “This is the best you're going to get for $850 a month, _without_ renting someone’s basement or rooming with total strangers. And that’s pushing it.”

“$850!?”

“Utilities _not_ included. Welcome to the DMV,” Evan stated sarcastically as she flung her arms out before returning to the previous conversation, “Now, _talk_!”

Sam pushed himself upright against the wall in response to her renewed interest, “Alright, just… My name really is Sam, and this is my brother, Dean. We-we need your grandfather's journals because there might be some information in them that could help us.”

Evan narrowed her eyes in suspicion at Sam’s words, “Such as? What could _possibly_ be in those journals that would help you two?”

“Uhh…” Sam glanced over at his brother with a look of uncertainty. Should he give her the speech? Or were they just going to ad-lib everything? Unfortunately, Dean didn't seem to see Sam's silent question and just started talking.

“We need it to stop the Mother of Monsters from coming back from Purgatory. And stop her from jump-starting a monster apocalypse,” he stated candidly, earning matching wide-eyed looks from Sam and Evan.

“What? Are you-is he… _Seriously_?” Evan gaped as she looked incredulously between the two men.

“Dude! Don’t sugar coat it!” Sam chided.

“ _What_?!” Evan half-shouted in disbelief.

“Look, we don't have time, and we don't know who else might be coming after those journals,” Dean retorted, “We need to get those books and get her somewhere safe.”

“You _both_ have lost your minds,” Evan proclaimed as she threw her hands up dramatically.

“Maybe, but those weren’t normal guys that attacked you, sweetheart. The sharp teeth? Try fangs, as in vampires. And, if it weren’t for us, you would’ve been dinner.”

Evan stared at Dean like he grew an extra head, “You are insane. There is no such thing as vampires or monsters. You both are mental.”

“Evan, we're telling the truth,” Sam added gently, “And you _are_ in danger. How many people have shown up out of the blue asking about those journals? It only started _after_ your grandfather died, right? That's not a coincidence.”

Evan paused for a moment and eyed Sam warily while her brain processed everything, “You’re asking me to accept a lot right now… You do understand how completely bonkers this all sounds, right?” Evan asked, a hint of an accent audible as she spoke.

“We do, but how else would you explain what happened? You saw what happened to the security guards,” Dean stated.

Evan drew a shaky breath. The sight of the guards’ corpses was still fresh in her mind. No ordinary human could possibly make bite marks like that, practically shredding the skin and tissue. If that were the sort of damage their teeth could cause, Evan was afraid to find out what else those men could do. She knew it would be quite some time before those mental images would leave her.

Evan took a deep, steadying breath through her nose and closed her eyes. The vacant, bloodied, wide-eyed expressions on the guards' corpses felt all too familiar, and the visions were briefly replaced with that of a man and woman on their living room floor. Evan swallowed hard and shoved the memories back into the dark corners of her mind, refusing to let herself dwell there.

“What exactly are you suggesting, then?” Evan finally asked, her voice slightly raspy.

“We need to get you and the journals out of here as soon as possible. One of the guys from earlier managed to escape, so there's a pretty safe bet that he's gonna show up here, and he might have friends with him,” Dean answered as he stood up, his body aching from where he had hit the table, “Where are the journals?”

“They're in my bag. I've had them with me the whole time. But all that's really in those journals is stuff from when granddad was in the Reserves and training in Key West, just a few months before he and grandma got married. There's not much else besides highlights from his first few years of marriage and the birth of my two aunts.”

Sam and Dean both froze and exchanged looks.

“So… you _lied_ to us back at the library,” Dean clarified indignantly.

“ _Of course_ , I lied to you! Two strange men pretending to be federal agents show up asking about the same journals that at least _13_ different people have questioned me about? And you honestly expect me _not_ to be suspicious? Please,” Evan scoffed as she flung the frying pan onto her makeshift bed before making her way into the bathroom, “Also, you might want to update your badges. They're impressive forgeries, but _real_ FBI badges have a raised seal and lettering. Yours were too flat.”

Sam pulled himself off the floor and quirked his head in bemusement. They should have known that she would see through the badges (she _did_ work in a federal building, after all). Sam was going to have to improve his skills at Kinkos.

Evan emerged a moment later, carrying a canvas beach duffel with cactuses printed on it. “By the way, _thank you_ for destroying my career,” she added sarcastically as she began rolling and stuffing clothes into her bag, “I doubt I can ever show my face at a government agency again after that stunt today. You know, with all the murder, and the blood, and the thousands of dollars in damages to irreplaceable books and displays that I was personally responsible for.”

Sam and Dean exchanged guilty looks, “Uh...”

Before anything more could be said, the door to Evan’s apartment suddenly flew from its hinges and shattered against the opposite wall. Three men with sharp fangs, long claws, and glowing, amber eyes burst in, growling at Evan and the Winchesters.

“ _Shit_ ,” Dean cursed under his breath, “Evan! Put a rush on it!”

Within seconds, a brawl broke out in the apartment. Evan hurriedly shoved random pieces of clothing in her bag while Sam and Dean tussled with the werewolves. At one point, one of the intruders lunged for Evan, only to be intercepted by Dean, wielding her floor lamp like a quarterstaff.

“Hurry up!” he ordered before swinging the lamp again.

Evan scrambled to grab to her bag containing the journals, ducking underneath Dean and narrowly avoiding getting kicked in the head by one of the wolves fighting Sam. Just as Evan popped back up, clutching the bag to her chest, Sam got knocked back onto the cushions. Before the werewolf could pounce, Sam plunged a silver knife into its chest and shoved it back, knocking the tv and the fern over. Water from the fern spilled onto an exposed outlet on the other side of the wall, causing sparks to fly, and soon an electrical fire began to engulf the apartment.

Everything was complete and utter chaos. Fire alarms began blaring as the smoke and flames rose overhead. Evan could hear her neighbors shouting and slamming doors as they rushed out of the building in panic. Dean managed to trap one of the werewolves in the bathroom while the remaining one attacking Sam fled the apartment.

“We gotta go! NOW!” Dean shouted as he snatched Evan's duffel off the floor and dragged her away from the blaze.

The trio stumbled down the stairs, all three of them coughing as the smoke burned their lungs. Outside, the cooler night air made it instantly easier to breathe, but there was no time for hesitation. A crowd had already formed, and sirens could be heard in the distance. The Winchesters led Evan away to where they had parked Baby just down the street. As soon as Evan saw the black, shiny car, she froze, eyes wide and mouth agape.

‘ _Oh God… the car… Winchesters..._ ’

“Evan! C’mon!” Dean bellowed, urging her on.

Evan shook herself from her stupor and quickly slid into the backseat, barely getting the door closed before they were already speeding off. Evan turned and watched out the back window as smoke continued to rise into the night sky—firefighters had just arrived and rushed to control the blaze. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, adrenaline still coursing freely as the trio made their escape. 

It wasn’t until almost half an hour later, once they got off the Interstate, that Evan finally spoke up, “Where are we going?”

“We're taking you to the Bunker. It's safe, and no wolves or vamps will be able to get to you there,” Dean answered as he white-knuckled the steering wheel and hyper-focused on the road ahead.

“Where’s that?”

“Lebanon, Kansas,” Sam answered.

“Kansas!? Bloody middle of nowhere, _Kansas_!?” Evan shrieked, “If I wanted to hide out in the backwoods of-of bumfuck nowhere, I’d just go back to my hometown!”

“Eh, it’s not so bad,” Dean dismissed, “Look, we gotta get you out of the line of fire, and the Bunker’s the safest place in the world.”

“So, you want to hold me hostage!? In a-a doomsday fallout shelter!? Hell no! Pull over!”

“Look, we--”

“NOW!” Evan screamed, fully freaking out.

Dean pulled over onto the shoulder of a two-lane road, just outside of Brandywine. Evan immediately flung the door open, not waiting for him to stop, and walked several yards away. She began muttering to herself and hyperventilating as she buried her hands in her hair, pacing back-and-forth like a distressed animal. Sam and Dean quickly followed suit, trying to make sure nothing happened while Evan had her meltdown, but still keeping a small distance between them.

“Evan, hey… It’s okay. Just breathe,” Sam soothed as he and Dean slowly approached, their hands raised in a show that they meant no harm.

“Just breathe!?” _Seriously_!?” Evan squeaked as she rounded on him, “You two show up at my job, asking your weird questions. Then, I get attacked by Twilight on steroids, and they destroy a historical, government library and _decades_ of books. Oh! And to top it all off, you flannel-clad nightmares break into my apartment, force me to pack-up and run, basically _kidnapping_ me after setting my apartment on fire. And _now_ , you're forcing me to go to some underground, hideout!?”

Sam and Dean looked at each other, admittedly taken aback slightly by her outburst. Most people they save (or at least attempt to) don’t freak out like this.

What the bloody fuck is wrong with you!?” Evan shrieked in exasperation, her voice growing hoarse as tears began to prick the corners of her eyes.

Dean blinked in surprise while Sam took in a deep breath and stepped forward slowly, “Look, I know this has been crazy and overwhelming. But, we promise, everything will be okay. Let’s all take a minute. Let’s grab some food, give ourselves a moment to breathe, go over a game plan, and get you to safety.”

Evan eyed Sam warily and leaned away slightly. Worried that she would take off running, Sam stopped walking towards her and gave a small, reassuring smile. This was rapidly becoming a fragile situation, and neither Winchester wanted to risk Evan running off into the woods. They likely wouldn’t be able to catch her if she did, not to mention that she'd be more vulnerable to the werewolf that got away.

“He’s right, Evan,” Dean added softly, “I think we could all use a bite to eat and a minute to catch our breaths.”

Evan sniffled and watched them a moment while she weighed her options. Exhaustion was once again setting in, and Evan wanted nothing more than to escape home to her grandparents' house only an hour south. However, after everything that had happened over the past several hours, Evan refused to risk the safety of her extended family, all of whom lived in the neighboring houses. Plus, her stomach was starting to ache since she hadn’t eaten anything since noon the day before.

“I uh… I don’t have shoes,” Evan said meekly.

Sam and Dean both paused and glanced down at her feet. In all the haste and excitement back at the apartment, Evan had been dragged out without her shoes.

“We can fix that,” Dean answered with an awkward smile and a light shrug, “Know any drive-throughs?”

* * *

The drive to Kansas was quiet, for the most part. The Winchesters and Evan grabbed a bite to eat at Checkers, just down the road from where they pulled over. It was admittedly bittersweet since, while the food was comforting, Evan found out that there wasn't a single Checkers Drive-In throughout the entire Midwest.

The plan they finally agreed on was that Sam and Dean would bring Evan to the Bunker, at least for the time being. Until they could get everything with the Alphas and Eve cleared up, it would be the safest place in the world for her. After that, and once everything had settled down, the Winchesters would help Evan get back on her feet and reacclimated with society. In the meantime, they had to get her some shoes and replacement toiletries.

Evan slept for the first 12 hours of the roughly 20-hour drive, too drained to humor conversation until after they had already long fled the DelMarVa region. The ride was smooth, and the sound of the Impala’s engine proving soothing and familiar. Evan subtly reveled in the long-forgotten feel of the leather bench seats beneath her palms and was surprised to still see a tiny army man jammed into one of the ashtrays. Funny how she seemed to keep getting smacked in the face with once buried memories.

The trio was just over eight hours away from the Bunker when Evan woke up from her long-overdue nap. Sam had already called ahead to Kevin with an update and let him know they would be back the following day. It took Evan a moment to remember where she was, but that was quickly resolved when she heard Dean belting out Led Zeppelin.

“Good afternoon, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean greeted as Evan stretched the kinks out.

“Where are we?” she asked groggily, trying to brush down her short, messy locks with her hands.

“Just outside Louisville, Kentucky.”

“We were thinking of stopping once we got to Missouri unless you're hungry now,” Sam added, glancing back at their passenger. He struggled to contain his laughter at the sight of Evan's bird's nest of hair, her bangs sticking out in different directions.

“That’s my secret, Captain. I’m _always_ hungry,” she answered, wiping away the last crumbs of sleep from her eyes.

“Well, since we’ll be cutting through anyways, whaddya say we stop in Kansas City for some barbeque,” Dean suggested with a big grin. Sam rolled his eyes at his brother’s excitement.

“Oh my god, _yes_!”

“Ha! I knew I liked her!” Dean smacked the steering wheel and grinned at his brother, who scoffed in response.

Evan smiled at Dean's reaction, but quickly ducked her chin to hide it. It was reassuring to see that at least _something_ didn't change—Dean still had a major love affair with food.

“So,” Evan began a little awkwardly, “The monsters and impersonating federal agents and things… I take it that's normal for you?”

“Yep. We’ve been hunting this stuff ever since we were kids,” Dean explained, “Our dad taught us ever since our mom died.”

Evan's eyes widened in surprise, but she remained composed, “Really?”

“Yeah, we uh-we travel all across the country looking for anything weird or supernatural... saving people, hunting things,” Sam added, exchanging knowing looks with his brother, “We didn't really settle down much or make too many friends growing up. But we always had each other--”

“And my baby!” Dean interrupted proudly as he tapped the car’s dashboard.

Evan nodded slowly and bit her lip in thought, “Where's your dad now?”

“He died about eight years ago. Demon got him,” Dean answered stoically.

“Oh…” Evan's heart dropped, “I’m sorry…”

“Just another part of life,” Dean brushed off coolly. 

Evan could tell that it was still a sore subject, despite how much time had passed. Then again, Evan wasn't necessarily one to talk given her own feelings regarding her parents and grandparents. Evan had mixed feelings about learning that John Winchester was no longer among the living. She couldn’t help but wonder how exactly he had died. Despite her curiosity, however, Evan thought better than to press the subject. Instead, she chewed the inside of her cheek as she mulled over a lifetime of resentment. 

“No reaction to the ‘demons are real’ part?” Sam asked, turning his head towards Evan, and startling her out of her thoughts.

Evan let out an amused huff, “I grew up in a traditional Catholic household. My grandma used to be a Eucharistic Minister and Lecturer on Sundays, and we are family friends with the past three priests stationed at our church, where I also happened to have gone to school. Oh, and my home county is super haunted. So, admittedly, demons are a bit more believable than Dracula and the wolfman.”

Sam laughed in response, “Haunted, huh?”

“Ever heard of Moll Dyer?”

“Yeah, of course,” Dean scoffed.

“My high school was within walking distance of her farm, river, and the rock she supposedly haunts.”

“Oh,” Sam and Dean answered in unison. 

Any hunter worth their stuff knew the tale of Moll Dyer, the infamous ghost of an accused witch from Southern Maryland. She had been run out of her home one harsh winter by the townspeople and chased into the woods. It was there that she eventually froze to death against a rock that still bears her imprint to this day. Unfortunately, Moll Dyer's ghost was also off-limits due to her rock being declared a historical artifact. It was also under constant surveillance by the courthouse next door to the St. Mary's County Historical Society, where it currently resides. The most any hunter could do was set up discreet wards around the rock using holy water and incantations. Every few years, someone would make the trek down to strengthen the warding, though Sam and Dean had not had the privilege yet.

“Well, you’re in for a lot of surprises about what’s real and what’s not once we get to the Bunker. Our library has all kinds of books and files on every supernatural creature you can imagine,” Sam explained.

“You have your own supernatural library?” Evan perked up, causing both boys to chuckle.

“Yep,” Dean answered with a pop, “Best library in the world.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Evan sassed in response and turned to look out the window. Her smile faltered, however, as she returned to her thoughts and memories. Casting a tiny glance at the two men in the front seat, Evan felt a wave of sadness overcome her.

_'Did you guys truly forget about me?'_


End file.
